


How Jade Harley Came to Be the Professional Moirail to Her Highness, The Queen

by krazieLeylines



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-27
Packaged: 2017-11-22 17:22:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krazieLeylines/pseuds/krazieLeylines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coming back to a broken planet means that there are things that they can still be doing. After perpetually having something that needs to be done for the last four years, the worst thing that could happen to them is if they were left on a planet where there is nothing more to accomplish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TanukiKyle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanukiKyle/gifts).



> I really hope that this is what you wanted, Kyle!! Have a happy New Year's Eve, and a wonderful new year.

\--cuttlefishCuller [CC] began pestering gardenGnostic [GG]--

CC: O)( MY GLUB )(ARL—-EY  
CC: WAT-ER I DO WAT-ER I DO WAT-ER I DO  
CC: JAD------E AR--E YOU T)(--ER--E  
GG: oh hi feferi  
CC: U)(G I DON’T F—-E—-EL SO W)(AL--E  
CC: O)( DAMN IT I T)(INK I’M GONNA B--E SICK  
GG: wait slow down whats going on d:  
CC: WAT--ER S)(OULD I DO  
GG: feferi i cant help you if i dont know whats wrong!!  
GG: stay with me  
GG: take a deep breath  
CC: O)( COD I JUST GOT SICK  
GG: feferi  
CC: PL—-EAS—-E JUST KRILL M-E U)(G  
GG: feferi clam the hell up  
GG: now take a deep breath  
GG: in  
GG: out  
GG: in  
GG: out  
GG: keep on doing that

GG: --cuttlefishculler [cc] is now an idle chum!--

GG: …  
GG: feferi  
GG: are you there  
CC: …  
GG: do you feel better?  
CC: U)(g  
CC: A bit betta I suppose.  
CC: But I’m really screwed over Jade.  
CC: I didn’t mean to )(urt )(im I swear.  
CC: I mean  
CC: W)(ale  
GG: wait what  
GG: hurt who  
GG: feferi why dont you start at the beginning??

\---

“I thould have killed you on LOBAF when I had the chance.”

That lisping voice was Sollux. Heated and scornful, his tone only mirrored your own feelings. How could Eridan DO this to you? After everything you’ve done for him. After every moment spent worrying yourself sick over his welfare. Every day you spent wide awake cold as ice with a primal fear. He was always a danger. A danger to himself and a danger to the people you were destined to protect.

The world seemed to violently pitch to the side as they faced one another. You could feel the control of the situation slipping from your fingers.

\---

CC: I was so FLIPPING ANGRY Jade!  
CC: But still.  
CC: I cod’ve done somefin.  
CC: I cod’ve STOPP-ED T)(---EM!  
GG: oh my god!!!!  
GG: what happened?  
GG: they’re okay right  
GG: right???  
CC: …

\---

It was impossible to breathe. For the first time in your miserable existence, you could really put yourself into the fins of your beloved sea creatures. You’re flopping around inside, choking on the oxygen itself.

Psionic energy and crackling white electricity danced before your eyes, scorned your lungs with every intake of air. “Sollux,” you choked, raspy with a taste of death on your tongue, “Eridan.” Red, white, and blue… the colors of the type of hatred that twists your inner organs into the pinpoints of a knife. Their bodies spoke the language of loathing, of a lust for pain, both to inflict it and to have it turn around and strike them back.

The three of you stood on the edge of time, a moment frozen and heavy, dripping with importance. You dashed around them, seeking any entrance into their personal struggle, not even aware of your movement, just your change of location.

\---

CC: SOLLUX!!  
CC: O)( COD JAD—-E )(IS BLOOD WAS –-EV—-ERYW)(---ER—-E  
GG: oh my god  
CC: I D—-ES—-ERV—-E TO DI—-E  
CC: I AM T)(-E WORST MAT--ESPRIT  
GG: is he  
GG: is he dead

\---

Golden liquid streams from his temple, clots the back of his hair. The wall behind him bears the shape of his crumpled body.

His face rolled into your palm as you held him. Gold, all over. Sticky and wet. You felt sticky all over, from the inside out. Sollux. Your Sollux. He is limp and broken and so very, very light. A body full of bones and honey blood.

You can’t stop your hand from trembling as you raise it to his chest, searching for a heartbeat you know won’t be there.

\---

CC: JAD—-E I CODN’T )(-----ELP MYS)(----ELL  
CC: I )(AT---------ED )(IM  
CC: I WANT--ED )(IM D----------EAD  
GG: feferi you cant  
GG: you didnt  
GG: oh god oh god oh god  
CC: )(---E D—-ES—-ERV—-ED TO DI------------------E!!!!  
GG: feferi no

\---

Make him pay. You had to make him pay. 

Eye to eye, you finally know exactly what he’s thinking. For the first time since you’ve met him, you can read Eridan Ampora’s mind. You don’t need words to communicate what you’re planning to do to him. He doesn’t need to reply in kind.

He raises his wand, but by the time you even notice, it’s too late for him.

It’s so easy to kill. You didn’t think it would be. His body isn’t ready for your trident; it takes nothing to twist their prongs into his soft stomach flesh. 

Ironically, this is the first time you two were truly connected, and it’s with the help of a tool of war.

His words of surrender flow off of you like water off of a duck. Anger is a good shield. Concepts of guilt and mercy do not cross your mind. They do not exist. As he weeps and begs and claims love, you twist and twist until he finally, thankfully, falls silent.

\---

CC: W)(at else could I do, Jade?  
CC: W)(AT –-ELS—-E DID YOU –-EXP—-ECT M—-E TO DO??!!!  
CC: )(—-E KILL---ED SOLLUX  
CC: )(---E WAS MY FUCKING MORAY----E----EL!!!!  
CC: I LOV—-ED )(IM  
CC: Morayeels aren’t supposed to do stuff like t)(at Jade.  
CC: T)(ey’re not.  
GG: oh  
GG: god  
GG: god  
GG: do you  
GG: do you even feel sorry  
CC: FUCK YOU!!!  
CC: W)(AT KIND OF CULLS)(IT B—-EAC)( DO YOU TAK—-E M—-E FOR

\---

What have you done? You’re not sure if it’s Kanaya who asks this or yourself.

Purple stains your hands, pools onto your lap, as you scoop up the traitor you loved and stare into his listless pupils. Gold and purple. The colors of royalty.

You are not a princess. You are a goddamn fool. 

\---

CC: I loved )(im, Jade.  
CC: I loved bot)( of t)(em SO MUC)(.  
CC: Jade I can’t deal wit)( t)(is.  
CC: Jade please.  
GG: feferi  
GG: i  
GG: i dont know what to do  
GG: i dont know how to help you  
CC: Please.  
CC: Cod.  
GG: feferi  
GG: i know this is the most cliché thing i can say right now  
GG: and it probably wont help  
GG: but i will really mean it  
GG: i promise  
CC: Jade  
CC: Jade please.  
GG: i am so so so sorry

\--cuttlefishculler [CC] ceased pestering gardengnostic [GG]--


	2. Chapter 2

“You can do this.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can. I’m right here next to you. You can do this.” You’re not sure if that actually helps Feferi or not. You hope that it does. Ever since she messaged you about, well, what happened a couple of years back, the two of you have been fairly close.

The alien princess reaches out, and you slip your fingers through hers. She leads, because this is her world, not yours.

Alternia is an odd-looking planet, but not nearly as alien as you imagined it would be. The beach that you are walking down is basically the same as the one on your island. It’s just as though the colors kind of bleed into one another, strange shades that don’t seem natural. Clouds the color of drying blood over a green-blue sky. Two moons instead of one, both toxic bright and blinding. While the heavens look like a morbid Van Gogh painting, the earth beneath you is drab and dark. Even the technicolored moonlight doesn’t seem to cast any shadows, because the ground is just a pool of shadows underneath your feet.

The man-made – or in this case, troll-made – landmarks are the icing on this alien planet cake. The only way you can even begin to describe their construction is that they look like they were constructed from pictures drawn by emotionally damaged children. Which, incidentally, they are.

It is like a world where nightmares happen. If this is what normal, safe life looks like for Feferi and her friends, you cannot imagine what horrors they visit in their sleep.

Sometimes the images around you shift, and you get that feeling like you’re in a dream and the ground is about to be pulled out from under your feet. Except then the dream bubble pulls itself back together and you continue walking as though nothing happened, although then you are in a completely different area and no signs of how you came to be there.

You’ve been on this beach, walking through this mud-colored sand for far longer than you’ve spent in any other location in Feferi’s dream bubble. This is your final destination.

“You can do this,” you mouth to Feferi when she pauses. One step further and she risks Eridan hearing the sound of her feet on the wet sand. You don’t move until she does, and she takes one daring step, and then another. 

He’s standing up ahead, facing the ocean with its ink-black waves. Neon green and pink streaks flicker across the ripples in the sea like a light show at a club. The result is ominous rather than pretty. Therefore, Eridan’s fascination with looking at them can be assumed to be more to do with not wanting to acknowledge Feferi’s presence than anything else.

You don’t hope that he just hasn’t noticed her yet. You don’t hope for a lot of things anymore.

Feferi sucks in a breath, and you squeeze her hand encouragingly. She stands far enough away from Eridan to retreat if he tries to hurt her. She won’t fight back this time. She’s stronger than that.

“Eridan.”

The other troll turns. This is your first time seeing him. His eyes are completely white, reminding you that he is dead. Otherwise, he looks perfectly non-corpselike. He’s dressed and groomed in a rather dignified way, just like Feferi. It’s so unlike the rest of the trolls, who care little for fashion and much more for minimalism. Maybe it’s a seadweller thing?

“Fef, hey,” he says, nodding at her. A slight smile pulls at the edge of his lip. He is not angry. He is not sad. He is not blatantly ignoring her or giving her the cold sholder. “Been w-wonderin’ w-when I’d see you again.”

Whatever Feferi expected, this is not it. “Eridan? Is that you?”

“I hawen’t changed that much, hawe I?” Still, no hurt on his face. He looks oddly at peace with the world around him.

Feferi shakes her head, looking enraged with her confusion. She lets go of your hand and you let her. “Why aren’t you attacking me, screaming at me, blaming me for your death? I krilled you! You should hate me!”

“Nah, that w-was forewer ago,” Eridan replies with a very graceful shrug. You can tell that there hasn’t been any weight on those shoulders for a long time. Not for the first time, you find yourself really envying this guy. Like, you don’t want to hurt him, and you don’t hate him. You just want him to stop existing, and for the space he fills in this world to be yours. It’s not for a long time that you understand why you feel this way.

His nonchalance rubs Feferi the wrong way. You see the heiress’s own shoulders slump, weighed down by troubles that the dead can no longer remember. “Water you talking aboat? It was not more than a sweep ago! Don’t you hold that against me at all?”

“I hawe forgiwen you.”

These are the words that Feferi came here for, but now that she has them, it looks like she wants to give them back. You realize that Feferi doesn’t want forgiveness. She wants to feel absolved of her guilt. She wanted Eridan to punish her for what she has done to him, so that she could learn to forgive herself.

“I never asked for your forgiveness,” Feferi bites back, “I never said that I was sorry!”

Eridan’s face takes on only the merest hint of worry, a shallow crease in between his eyes. “But you are sorry,” he replies, “I know-w you are. Otherw-wise, you w-wouldn’t hawe come.”

“Okay, so I am sorry! At least let me apologize first!”

It is obvious that her old friend and palemate does not follow her train of thought. Eridan’s face takes on a more thoughtful expression as he attempts to riddle out what he perceives as nonsense. “Okay, uh, apologize, then.”

“It’s too late now, moron!” This voice is all too familiar to you. Feferi is going to start crying soon. You don’t have much time before the tears come.

You take a guess that she would not like for Eridan to see her cry, and so you hook your arm through hers and pull at her. “It’s time for us to go,” you say to her late lover, “Thank you for allowing us to talk with you.”

Eridan nods. “Wisit anytime,” he replies, “One bad thing about bein’ dead: It’s borin’ as hell.”

The pun is supposed to make Feferi laugh. It doesn’t this time, but in later conversations with Eridan, it does. Now, though, you don’t know for certain that your troll friend will ever laugh again. You lead her away, getting that rush of vertigo again as the Alternia beach becomes your bedroom.

You are quick to grab as many squiddles as possible, throwing them and the blanket and pillows from your bed onto the floor.

Feferi doesn’t sit down in the pile so much as she faceplants into it. You follow, making sure not to step on top of any of her hair, and since she has like, miles of the stuff, that’s pretty hard to do. You settle down next to her and grab a brush and start working.

It’s not a feelings jam, per se. Neither one of you talks. Feferi sometimes sniffles, but otherwise the room is silent. Despite being separated in your journey through the yellow yard, the two of you have spent a lot of time together like this, getting to know one another in your own little corner of the dream bubbles, carved out from your memories.

When you finally wake up, all alone, there is some funny emotion pulling at your chest and you’re not sure what it means yet.

Eventually, you find that you’re the last one to really figure it out, besides Feferi herself.

You only meet Eridan once in the dream bubbles without Feferi by your side, because he’s really her friend more than he is yours. But instead of being awkward, it’s only slightly heavy, like it’s important that you have one moment with him alone.

He tells you to take care of Feferi, and says that you have his blessing, whether or not you were going to ask for it anyway.

Then everything slides into place, and you realize that you are falling.


	3. Chapter 3

The battle seems to have been going on for days. There’s so much blood caked everywhere, in every shade of the hemospectrum and then some, that you’re forgetting what it’s like to do anything without looking through a pair of goggles splattered in richly colored liquid. You’ve killed thousands of imps and other monsters, skewered them on both sides of your double-ended trident.

Lord English is not like the other bosses. You’re not even fighting him, just his army. Trying to prove a good enough distraction while the god tiers deliver upon him his whooped ass.

Jade is locked in combat with one of the cruelest, most powerful beings to have ever been brought into creation, and you worry for her. It may be cliché to say that she has been acting odd around you lately, but at least you’re sure of the reason why. 

However, it’s not a topic either of you have come close to breaching. There hasn’t been time.

There hasn’t been time for anything. Not for the rest of you to reach god tier. Not to properly reunite with Jade and the other kids’ paradox guardians. Not to find that cherub girl who was supposed to be the key to defeating Lord English. No, as soon as the meteor made its landing in the new world, the battle had already begun. 

It is a losing battle. It is obvious that you do not have enough power on your side to defeat Lord English. The only thing that you can do is try to buy time back from him.

Rose’s guardian believes that the cherub girl will return, packing her own secret weapon. While not particularly plausible, it is the only hope that you have left. If Jade or one of her friends die at this point, it will have been a heroic death. If Jade dies, and Lord English advances past the got tiers to the rest of you, you will not have time to mourn. This is your only consolation.

Jade’s oddly similar ancestor/descendant falls behind as a wave of imps ambush her from the side. You spin around to help her, driving your weapon down in an arch to pin the enemy’s skulls into the ground. He explodes into grist, which is widely useless now, so you ignore it and finish off a couple of other imps in a similar manner. The Jane girl uses her own fork as a trident, copying your movements and effectively finishing the rest of the horde off.

“Thanks,” she says. You simply nod. She and her friends are still not used to your alien-ness, and you know that being covered in blood is not going to improve her impression of you.

Jane looks over your shoulder and her face pales. “Jade,” she says.

Heart in your throat, you turn. To say that she looks like a mess would almost be humorous, if her life wasn’t so obviously in danger.

She’s in your arms before you even notice that you’ve moved. It’s impossible to tell how much blood is hers, and how much is Lord English’s, because they are the same shade. However, the gash wounds across her face and the rips in her uniform have you assuming the worst.

Jade is so beat up, in fact, that it takes you awhile to locate the reason she’s here. And then you find the bullet holes in her side, and you hear Jane gasp behind you.

“Please, no,” you hear, and you realize that it’s you who said that. Like some weepy little girl who can’t handle the battlefield. And the tears are fogging up your goggles and you can’t even see, but you don’t need to. That one glance was enough. You know what’s there, what’s got Jade retreating into your arms. Lord English ripped her torso up good.

“Stay with me,” you command, and Jade gives a slight nod of her head, wincing but not complaining about the pain. 

Wrapping up her wound before she bleeds any further is your only hope at this point. So you rip off one of the tails of your skirt and begin to tie it around her stomach. You press against the wound, despite how painful this must be. You cannot afford to let her bleed out. “Jade,” you say, trying to get her to look at you, try to keep her here.

“Yeah,” Jade answers, looking up into your eyes. Despite her condition, her gaze is focused. She breathes heavily, clutching your hand and clutching your fingers so hard that you can feel the bones straining against one another.

“Jade,” you say again, because you’re not quite sure what else to say, “Jade. You will survive.”

“I’m here,” she reassures you with a half-smile. You can tell that she’s touched with your concern. It occurs to you that you should have found time earlier to tell her how you felt. But you can’t tell her now, because that’s admitting defeat, admitting that she might not make it long enough for you to tell her later. Of course, that was your problem with not telling her earlier, as well.

“Guys,” Jane warns the both of you, pointing as some more monsters are approaching; ready to take advantage of your vulnerable state.

Perfect. That’s exactly what you needed.

You motion to Jane to take your place and stand up, giving the imps your best shark face and holding your trident almost casually. “Come on, hurry up,” you goad them, “Here’s the part where I pretend that you are all directly responsible for the bullets in my friend’s gut, and have my sweet, sweet revenge.”

They pause, probably not all that sure that they want to attack you anymore. The cowardly brutes. Fuck if you’re going to show them any mercy.

“I said: Get over here so I can cull you!”

Good Lord, no. They’re turning tail to retreat now. It’s time to cut them off. With a dash and a leap, you are standing in front of them, and they skid to a stop before you. You throw down your trident.

They look extremely disturbed by this as you dive into the middle of them. You sink your claws into the first one you come into contact with, hooking them into his face as you use him as a weapon to grind another one into the dirt. Ah, how sweet the sound, the squeals of anguish in the air. Once they die, their pain will go away. This sounds entirely unappealing to you. Another imp is trying to pull you off of them, but its prickly little nails do little but tickle. 

With a final harsh kick into the top imp’s abdomen, they explode into more useless grist, and you turn to the one that’s clawing at your side. Grabbing him and lifting him above your head, it is almost easy to rip him apart, right down the middle, making him pop like a balloon or a piñata, spilling the multi-colored currency onto the others below him.

A couple of them are trying to make a run for it. You pounce at them, pinning them down by their necks. You hear a crunch. Do they even have bones? Not caring, you make quick work of the deserters, popping their heads off of their shoulders with a simple squeeze at the back of their throats.

More are retreating now, running in all sorts of directions to make it harder for you to catch all of them. “Weaklings!” You grab as many as you can, clutching them to your chest as you collect them, determined not to let a single one get away. Their ink-black blood is decorating your claws, and now your mouth, as you bite down into the shoulder of one that doesn’t fit in your arms.

“Feferi!”

Their flesh tastes nasty, sort of toxic blood underneath, the short dirty fur getting caught in your fangs and making you gag as it gets stuck underneath your tongue.

“Feferi! Let them go!”

More heads are detached, and arms and legs and whatever else you can get a hold of that you can pull at. Others you pound in, compressing their torsos until you can harm their inner organs, hooking your fingers underneath their ribs to get at their lungs.

They are fighting back, of course. How can they not? But their teeth are not as sharp as yours, their strength not as magnificent. It is only when a hand grabs your horn that you pause.

You reach to claw and tear the hand off the thing that dared to grab your horn. You can feel the pressure against your skull as the force of the hand yanks your head up and away from the imps. As your claws did into flesh, however, the blood that pools under your fingers is too warm to be an imp’s.

The slap across your forehead disorients you long enough for the pieces to fall into place. 

“Jade?”

Another slap, this time across your cheek and leaving the skin there stinging. There is a throbbing in your skull you hadn’t noticed before.

“I told you to let them go,” she scolds you as she pulls the goggles off of your face.

You release her hand, trying not to look at the crimson color that you would surely find caked underneath your nails along with the monster blood. When she goes to move her hand again, you flinch instinctively, but she does nothing but brush your hair away from your face so that you can see. Her palm just barely brushes your skin, and a queer cold feeling coils in your gut, the preverbal ice that dispels your murder boner.

The imps are gone, either dead or having run away. You suddenly don’t have the energy to chase them down and finish what you have started.

This must be what Jade’s weird omniscient pet used to feel like. 

“Next time, listen to me,” Jade adds, her voice having gone softer, but still sharp-edged. And then, very slowly, she tilts her head, looks at you curiously, and whispers, “Shhh.”

It’s not a “shoosh”, but it’s a close enough cousin to make your heart churn.

“Shhh,” she repeats, and oh. You realize that you are growling, low in your gut, teeth still bared. You can’t be a pretty picture. For a second, you forget how not to growl, and then you force the sound away with sheer will power, swallow the rage and pull your lips to cover your fangs.

Behind Jade, Jane has silent tears running down her face. You must have scared her, had her thinking that you were losing all sense of reason like Gamzee had. 

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say?

“It’s okay,” Jade replies quickly and takes her hands away, releasing your horn so that you can move your head however you please. Jade trusts you.

You open your mouth, but no words come out. Confessing to her here, when there is death and blood all around, does not feel right. Especially not with the audience you have. Turning to Jane, you repeat, “I’m very sorry.”

The moment is over, but the impression of it lingers in the back of your mind.

Later, Rose arrives with the news that alternate-universe macho Calliope has arrived, and that Lord English has been defeated. It’s so unexpected that you don’t even celebrate, just sort of collapse down on the ground as you think, “What now?”


	4. Chapter 4

In the end, you get your own universe, and your own little planet. Its populace is half human and half troll, with like point-oh-one percent being cherubs. This should mean that everything is fine and dandy. This is a lie. The humans and trolls are constantly at war for dominance of the planet. It’s called Earth, just like your home planet, and has a history of belonging to the humans. The trolls – and later the cherubs – are just visitors. Without a proper leader, the trolls are more or less savages, and the cherubs the last scavengers of their own race.

This distresses the trolls for obvious reasons. Here they are, in a world that without their help couldn’t have been created, and they are treated as outcasts. Xenophobic hate crimes, despite being illegal, are so common in the place you end up at that John gets everybody to move. The trolls can handle themselves, of course, but you agree with your brother. No need to take chances.

Feferi pleads with him to pick a place on the ocean. The geography is similar to your old world, so you find the area that would be the northern part of California, hoping that it will prove to be as accepting of alien kids as it is of other minorities in its paradox version of itself.

It’s no San Francisco, but it works. Feferi only has to walk a block to get to the nearest beach, which is deserted at night. You follow her a lot of the time, to look out at the sea that looks almost similar to the one that she left behind on her own planet. You remember how it appeared in the dream bubbles, that weirdly colored Alternian ocean and sky. 

You’re not the only one frustrated with this world. You’ve fought all those years for a broken planet, where your friends are in even more danger than they were on their own planet. Even Karkat still has to fear hatred for his mutation, despite his blood being the same shade as a human’s. In fact, even more so now, because the other trolls see him as a scapegoat to voice their hatred against the hornless men who act at their dictators.

Mutants aren’t executed here so much as they are abused at every opportunity. For this reason, you keep an extra eye on Feferi. It’s been eons since the trolls have come across a fuchsia-blooded troll, the line having been wiped out long before and leaving them without an empress. You are terrified that they will consider her a mutant as well.

You explain your angers and fears to Rose, who had a very odd viewpoint on it all.

“I know how this will sound, and I already hate myself for saying it,” she had begun, her voice weirdly hesitant, “but I think things are better this way. Coming back to a broken planet means that there are things that we can still be doing. After perpetually having something that needs to be done for the last four years, the worst thing that could happen to us is if we were left on a planet where there is nothing more to accomplish.”

Which yeah, okay, does make a lot of sense, no matter how terrible it is. But even though Rose is right, it doesn’t mean that you actually know what it is you’re supposed to be doing. With the game, it was easy. There was a big bad boss with flashing neon lights – or in this case, flashy neon green skin – that clearly spelled “villain”. Now, not only is the cause of the problem not clear, but the solution is even more obscure. Are you supposed to “go Martin Luther King on their asses”, to quote Dave? How would that even be accomplished? It’s not like any of you are very religious, or even have reputations as being just people. Besides, the trolls here act as though they don’t even want help.

It’s more Malcolm X logic with them, to be perfectly honest. Giving the trolls any sort of power would probably only result into a flip of the original problem, with the trolls ruling over the humans.

These are the sorts of ideas that plague your mind as you sit on the rock you’ve taken to as the perfect place to watch over Feferi as she takes a dip in the water. You have a bag with you filled with an extra pair of clothes for her, and one for you, too, though you haven’t yet joined her in a swim.

What Feferi thinks about, you’re not sure. She has been very withdrawn since arriving here. All the trolls have, but Feferi more than the others.

Neither of you have talked about what happened at the last battle, how Feferi was the one you chose to retreat to when Lord English caught you in the gut with his gun. That wound is now almost completely healed, thank God, although it didn’t have time to heal completely when you were stripped of your godhood and deposited into this new world.

Something tells you that you’ll have the scars forever. Oddly enough, this comforts you. It saves you from having to tie something to your finger so that you never forget that Sburb and the life you had before it was very real. It’s easy to forget now that nothing is the same.

Feferi catches you feeling for the scars under your shirt, and wades over to lean against the rock. She is only in her underclothes, but despite her being the most gorgeous and exotic girl you’ve laid your eyes on, you are not embarrassed or roused by this. At first, this didn’t make a whole lot of sense to you. You’re very certain that you’re in love with this alien, this princess, this wonderful young woman.

This wonderful young woman who was born to rule an empire that spanned a galaxy is now nothing more than an outcast among outcasts, the last of her species to have this color of blood. At least there are other trolls like Karkat. Feferi has nobody, not even her tyrant of an ancestor.

It’s not pity. You don’t care what Karkat says, because pity is not a good reason to start a relationship with someone. Empathy, though, you understand. You sympathize with Feferi so much that some days you honestly feel like you know exactly what she’s going through. You hurt when she hurts, and you hate yourself when she hates herself.

You don’t tell her this, because you feel like you might offend her. After all, the closest you’ve ever been to going through a similar experience is when you had your god tier status revoked. Seems really stupid in comparison, right? Right.

Feferi watches you for a long time, silently thinking as you yourself are caught in your own thoughts. After a second, if occurs to you that she might be going down the same mental road as you are.

You open your mouth, but then shut it. You’re not even sure what you can say. “I think I’m in love with you, but not in a sexual way?” You think of that “diamond love” that you’ve heard about. It’s supposed to be non-sexual, but it’s also about trying to stop your lover from killing people, you think. But aside from that one time with the imps, Feferi hasn’t been particularly violent. It’s better not to mention it, really, or you might embarrass yourself when she says that she doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

Or worse. That she doesn’t reciprocate your feelings.

Instead you say, “I want something to do. I’m bored of being bored. Every day and every night, it’s the same old b-s.”

“I just feel bad for all the poor trolls,” Feferi replies, folding her arms on a flat part of the rock and laying her head down in the crook of an elbow, “I bet they feel the same way that you do. With nothing to do but labor away for the humans. They don’t have hopes or dreams that they can follow.”

You can emphasize with Feferi, but she can emphasize with an entire race. It’s clear that it isn’t just her royal bloodline that made her the best choice for an heiress.

In fact, she emphasizes with them so much that the fact that they are dying off is killing her. It’s making her lose interest in the world around her, like the trolls have lost any interest in fighting back. You love Feferi and claim to emphasize with her, and yet she’s dying just the same.

“Take care a Fef,” Eridan had told you.

But how? Everyone wishes that they can change the world, and somehow make it better. But nobody ever does, because nobody knows where to start. Nobody even bothers to take the first step, because no one expects to be able to succeed. How can one person do anything?

Except plenty of people in history have done amazing things single-handedly. And you’re not even alone. You look at Feferi, the lost heiress, and the obvious solution comes to you.

“Feferi, I have an idea,” you say suddenly, “You can give them something to dream about.”

In the end, it probably didn’t even matter if this worked or not. The point was that you had something to do, something to hope for, something to fight for.

You realize that you will spend the rest of your life fighting. As Rose said, it’s better than the alternative.


	5. Chapter 5

Trying to convince the world that you are indeed in line to be the next heiress is more than a little tricky… not to mention being potentially dangerous. So you start at the bottom of the food chain. Instead of trying to convert the skeptics, you begin with the believers.

There are believers here. They are trolls who believe that their lost leader will come back to save them from purgatory. It’s a myth that helps them keep their heads up when times get rough.

However, it’s a myth that works in your favor, because strictly speaking, you very well could be that leader that they are talking about. Well, not really. If they do have a troll who is the descendant of their universe’s version of the Empress, it isn’t you. It’s a paradox version of you, who may or may not be anything like you at all. But since she is likely dead, you are (you hope) a suitable replacement.

The trolls seem to think so. The first troll that you find, who is somewhat of a fanatic on this particular myth, hugs you once you reveal to him your blood color.

It kind of snowballs from there. Your name is whispered from troll to troll. Not everyone believes at first, of course. But they hope it’s true, and you are always there to prove them right. You and Jade pack up your stuff and travel from town to town, and just announce your existence to people. You stop once in a while to do something charitable: feeding the poor, healing the wounded, protecting the bullied, anything that you think helps.

However, it’s the first time that you end up facing your first skeptic that things skyrocket. You were always aware that you had to handle such a confrontation gently. Otherwise, you would just end up losing those you had already converted to your cause. Or worse: you could further alienate those you have yet to convince.

After all, it’s “The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.” – Troll Gandhi

Well, you’re mostly certain that it’s troll Gandhi who said that.

Jade is with you when it happens, of course. She is always there, although she keeps a safe enough distance from everything so as not to make the trolls uncomfortable or to have any of them assuming that she fills any of your quadrants. Because she doesn’t. Though you can’t help hoping that this fact is temporary. 

The troll is a highblood, of course. It’s always the highbloods that dare to talk back to a seadweller. She’s obviously part of the cult of the Messiahs, by her choice of clothing. You have nothing against colorful accessorizing, of course. But still…

“You’re nothing but a mutant with some fancy blood color,” she sneers at you, pushing her way around the crowd that’s spent the last hour or so asking you question after relentless question.

It would be a nice distraction, if she didn’t so obviously hate your guts.

The crowd around you screams at her in outrage, but you shush them with a simple finger to your lips and go over to meet the juggalo. You and Jade have practiced what to do in this sort of scenario. You have to seem firm, but caring. Yelling is a big no. Violence is a bigger no. Breaking down because you are frustrated, though, is possibly the worst thing you can do.

Down the street, over at a vendor that’s selling different types of homegrown berries, you can see Jade look over, her face twisted in worry.

“I understand that it may seem odd,” you begin in a sympathetic voice, “even impossible, for me to be the descendant of your long-dead Empress. However, it is not impossible, but improbable. I promise you that my blood color is the same as hers, and if I really am just a mutant, then it seems much more improbable for me to accidentally be born with a mutation that mimics the Heiress’ blood color.” Perspective is all the other troll needs.

“You speak fancy,” the other troll sneers, “Leave it to a royal fucking fish to speak like a damned dictionary and not really say anything of any importance.”

This is trickier. She obviously didn’t understand what you just said, maybe due to the lack of schoolfeeding that those who belong to the cult generally receive. You can’t talk to her like a grub, though, and risk being condescending.

“Look,” you say, pricking your own hand until a bead of your blood bubbles to the surface of your skin. Its fuchsia color makes the trolls around you gasp. They’ve seen the color in your eyes before, but you rarely actually show off the color of your blood, for obvious reasons. No reason to literally bleed to get your point across. Except, of course, when it’s strictly necessary.

“That’s real pretty, babe,” the troll drawls lazily, seeming unfazed, “Could make a bunch of really cool paintings with shit like that. It ain’t the divine shade though.”

You bristle. She’s lying, she has to be. Or she really doesn’t know what the divine blood color even looks like. “Actually,” you rush to correct her, “it is. Compare my blood color to any old image of the late Empress’s. I can assure you that they are one and the same.”

She shakes her head. “Nah. I’ve seen the divine blood and that’s not it.”

How could she have seen the divine blood? She’s not old enough to have met the Empress. Perhaps she has lost her mind. “You have? Do tell,” you prompt bitterly.

“The Merciful Messiahs have made it clear that the Empress and any offspring she may have had are dead,” she says instead, “Are you implying that they lied to us?” Although she still sounds disinterested, there is an edge of a threat underneath the lethargic tone. 

“Wait!” One of the trolls in the crowd fishes in his bag for a book, opening it up to a picture of this universe’s version of the Condesce. Actually, she looks eerily similar to the one you know.

“I’m not accusing anyone of lying,” you say smugly, gladly taking the book to show your verbal opponent, “Especially not the Messiahs. However, I would like to point out that my blood color is the same shade as the Heiress’s outfit.” You put your palm next to the page for comparison.

The troll leans in, looking from the bead of blood to the drawing. “I’m not seeing it, babe,” she finally says after a long pause, “Your blood seems darker to me.”

“Well, that’s because it’s all clotted together in one little drop right now,” you try to explain, smearing the blood around and spreading it out. “See? Now that it’s not so concentrated, it matches the photo perfectly.”

“Still don’t see it,” she says (of course). “Seems a bit too light now. I think you’re just grasping for straws at this point. I’m not going to lie, that’s kind of pathetic.”

Unfortunately, Jade didn’t train you to deal with stupidity. Taking a deep breath helps to cool you down, but doesn’t do jack shit to give this girl a functioning think pan. Oh, well. You suppose you’re just going to have to try to get rid of her if she won’t speak logic with you.

“You’re the one grasping for straws,” one of the other trolls on your side speaks up, a young one who can’t be much higher than an ochreblood. 

“What did you say to me, lowblood?” Bigotry is still a thing that exists among trolls. It makes you sick, but you try to give the clown the benefit of the doubt. After all, bigotry is often the result of ignorance, not necessarily of hate. Also, Gamzee still sometimes calls Karkat a lowblood, or even a mutant, even though it’s clear he doesn’t hold it against him. It’s almost like an observation.

“I said—” The other troll starts, but you decide to cut him off before trouble happens.

You step between the two of them, hands out but not touching either one of them without their permission. “Please refrain from starting a fight,” you say, “Now. I’m sorry that you don’t see the similarity, and if you’re that convinced that I’m not the heiress, then I suppose I will have to allow you your opinion.”

Wrong thing to say, apparently. “It’s not my opinion, you self-absorbed prick. I’m saying that you’re not royalty, and I’m not going to allow you to continue spreading this heresy.”

This is bad news. You are ready to defend yourself if need be. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, “but my blood is fuchsia, and as I’ve said before, I think it’s far more likely that it’s because I am genetically related to the Empress than that it’s an accident.”

“Looks more cerise to me,” the clown shoots back. Props to her for knowing the fancy names of colors, even if the only reason that she does is probably due to her “religious paintings”.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Jade starting to walk over. You shake your head at her, letting her know that you’ll handle this yourself. Turning back to the troll, you smile thinly. “Again, it seems like we don’t see eye to eye on this. But I can assure you that my blood is fuchsia.”

“Mind if I open you up and find out?” The troll asks darkly.

You take half a step backwards, but one of your fans is quicker. “Don’t you dare lay a hand on the Heiress! You’re the blasphemous one!”

“Wait, no—”

She’s got him by the horns (such a dirty move), and looks like she’s going to tear his head in half. You grab her wrists and dig your claws in deep, enough to deliver your threat. “Let him go this instance, or I will hurt you,” you tell her.

“I’d like to see you try, sister,” she answered, tugging at a horn with her free hand until he gasped from the pain.

“He’s nearly just a wriggler,” you try to persuade her, shaking your head.

“He’s old enough to know how to hold his tongue,” is all she says in explanation, hissing at you, “Now get your blunt little filed nails out of my wrist, and let me finish my work.”

Now Jade is sprinting towards you. You turn to the troll and decide that you need to show your followers that you don’t back down. Especially not to bullies. It just takes an easy twist of the wrist, a careful placement of your thumb, and her bone snaps under the pressure.

“Feferi!” 

You don’t pause, keeping hold of the howling troll until she finally lets go of the younger one. She pulls away, brandishing a club with her good hand, but you don’t back down.

“Feferi, stop!”

“I told you what would happen,” you growl warningly, taking another step forward. If she wants a fight, she’s got one.

The damn bitch doesn’t heed your warning, and you slash her across the face before she can raise her club to swipe it at your skull. You’re only vaguely aware of Jade’s footsteps as she comes rushing at you from the side. What is she doing? Doesn’t she realize that this clown needs to pay?

“Feferi!” Her hands are on your face instantly, putting herself in between you and your enemy. You are afraid that she will get the blunt of the blow, but the other troll pulls back, astonished.

And then you hear a “Shoosh,” and realize that it’s Jade, and she’s stroking your face.

Oh.

Jade turns around, smiling at the troll. “Sorry about that,” she said almost sheepishly, shrugging with a comedic flourish, “Okay, now you two can continue your conversation.” She gives you one last pap at the cheek, and then winks at you.

What?

“That… your moirail?” The clown asks, looking at you quizzically.

You’re about to say “no”, but then Jade interrupts you with, “Kind of? To be honest we’ve kind of been skirting around the issue for a long time now.”

Oh.

You blush like mad, putting your blood-soaked hands to your face.

“I don’t think humans did quadrants,” the clown says, looking from Jade to you, and then back to Jade again. Your moirail. Or, you think. Maybe?

“We don’t usually,” Jade replied for you, since you’re still speechless. “It’s kind of a hard thing to get used to. I didn’t really get it at first. I’m not entirely sure that I get it now. But I do know that if she shared diamonds with someone else, I’d be pretty jealous.”

The highblood shook her head at you in disgust. “You’re a human lover,” she said, “What sort of Heiress do you claim to be anyway? Do you want us to rule the humans, or mate with them?”

“Neither!” You sigh heavily. “I want us to rule with the humans.”

Oh no, oh no, oh no. What if the others now hate you, thinking that you’re some sort of puppet for the human government? You have to get the message across to them, you have to—

“She got a fucking human to understand the quadrants,” one troll from the back exclaims in surprise.

You suppose she’s a little slow on the update, huh? You turn back to face the clown, but she’s already walking away with a huff. “Fucking heretics,” you hear her murmur a bit too loudly, “this is why our world is falling the fuck apart.”

“Let her go,” Jade advises you before you can take after her. You trust Jade to give you sound advice, and so you do, melting back into the crowd that supports you.

Of course, all the rest of their questions are about Jade. You give in and answer as honestly as you can. Some look a bit skeptical now, but the vast majority… well, it seems that your ability to get a human interested in troll romance gives them a whole new respect for you. And, you hope, a whole new respect for humans.

And in a way, you sort of get that. Trolls and humans aren’t really that different, in a lot of ways. Their cultures clash, yeah, but when you got down to the biology of things, the emotions that both species could feel, they were surprisingly similar.

But, to be perfectly honest, you couldn’t wait for the q and a to be over so that you could chat with Jade about your relationship status upgrade.

Thankfully, the others seem to catch on pretty quick, and allow you to skip off early.


	6. Chapter 6

Being the moirail to the troll race’s new Queen (Empress was thrown out when it was challenged by critics because, technically, the troll Empire no longer existed) is no laughing matter. Well, except when you and Feferi are laughing, and to be honest, the two of you find a lot to laugh about.

It’s not easy, is what you’re saying. 

First of all, politics are hard. You hate politics. Being Feferi’s moirail is kind of being like the person who advertises for a presidential candidate, and also her personal bodyguard. Or, more like a reverse bodyguard, because most of it is helping her from blowing up at people she doesn’t like and not the other way around. Which actually really helps her popularity.

You guess trolls aren’t quite ready for a Martin Luther King sort of leader. They want someone that they know, someone who reminds them of their late Empress.

She was just as fierce as the Batter Witch, apparently, to hear the tales about her. And you hear a lot of tales about her. Feferi’s fans love to tell them to her, and all of them are very gruesome. Feferi seems to like them, though, and that’s all that counts.

It takes a while for Feferi to explain the concept of moirails to you, to make it clear that there is more to it than you just stopping her from ripping the faces off of people who may or may not have strictly deserved it. Karkat wants to help with the explanation, but you decide after just one lesson that you don’t want to even go down that road. Again, with the pitying business.

You have never and will never pity Feferi. But you love her, and that’s enough for her. She doesn’t ask for you to pity her, doesn’t ask for anything more than you can give.

Feelings jams are something that you can do, though. And snuggles. You’re a real fan of the snuggle fests. And you’re now a master at brushing Feferi’s long, long hair. You’re thinking of stylizing it in some way. Braids were Meenah’s things, so not that. Maybe a ponytail? Whatever it is, you’re sure that Feferi will be able to pull it off. Everything looks good on her.

The future is uncertain. Feferi will live for eons, and you have a short lifespan that will last maybe only a century. Feferi will get more violent and unstable as she ages, making it ideal for her to have a moirail for all the years she lives. Even now, you can see the changes from when you first met her, to now.

Feferi can extend your life so that you live as long as she does. But that’s a big step. You’re not sure that humans are meant to live that long, and what if you go crazy, too?

It will be a long time before Feferi is actually crowned Queen, of course, though most people think of her as one anyway. Oddly enough, you begin to hear people referring to a Princess, and you think it’s another way of addressing Feferi until you realize that they are talking about you.

Yeah, you as a princess. It’s a scary thought, but that’s what happens when you fall for royalty.

There’s one good thing about being Feferi’s moirail, though, despite the obvious fact that you are _her moirail_ and you couldn’t be happier. The good thing is that you are always busy. You always have something to fight for. Or rather, someone.


End file.
